The Course of Events
by don't think about it
Summary: Kirsten and Sandy's wedding and then Jimmy and Julie's. Stopping just before the birth of Marissa.
1. The Wedding

Kirsten Nichol gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her long blonde hair fell in waves around her face, softening her slightly angular jaw—her one true flaw, and she knew it, too. Oh, well. Grace Kelly had had a flawed jaw as well, and it certainly hadn't hurt her any. The dress was perfect: Cream-colored silk, princess-seamed, almost-strapless gown with a silk chiffon neck to "hold it up," as Katharine Nichol had cheerfully suggested. Today was the day. She was twenty-two years old—oh, God, was that too young?—hopelessly in love—but she'd thought she'd loved Jimmy; what if something better was coming along?—and as ready as she'd ever be in her life—she'd never be ready to be married; she knew it…

A knock came at the door.

"You'd better not be Sandy," she warned. A familiar voice said, "I'm not."

"Jimmy," she said with a smile as he walked in. He looked incredible in his tuxedo; his hair was shorter than it had been when they were dating, and his muscles were more developed. Jimmy Cooper wasn't seventeen anymore, just as she wasn't, and it showed.

"You look beautiful," he said. She did, too. He could barely breathe looking at her tiny, perfect body; her sweet, expressive face; her long, silky waves as they fell gently against the chiffon-encased shoulders. "Congratulations. Sandy's a lucky man."

"Oh, Jimmy," she said with a laugh. "I'd give you a hug but I'm terrified of messing up my dress." He smiled. What he wouldn't give to have heard her yelling, "You'd better not be _Jimmy_!" Because that would have meant it was he whom she couldn't see twenty-four hours, let alone one, before the wedding.

"Seriously, Kiks. You're gorgeous."

"Even better than my prom dress?" she asked with a grin. Well, if she was going to bring up their prom…

"Even better than your prom dress," he confirmed. It was certainly hard to beat the prom dress. The wine-colored taffeta had been gorgeous, though it hadn't held a candle to the woman in it. "Hey, where's your dad? I've been looking for him." A dark look flashed against Kirsten's face.

"He's not coming. There was a monsoon," she said dryly. "Trust Caleb Nichol to miss his own daughter's wedding. He won't go to Hailey's either, bet on it."

"She's twelve! He'll be retired by the time she's ready to get married."

"Yeah, and dead. He'll die, just so that he doesn't have to go. Daddy hates weddings." They laughed together, and Jimmy hesitantly gave his ex-girlfriend's had a squeeze.

"Kiks…Kirsten?" he asked. She turned to look at him curiously. He never called her by her given name; it was too formal. Jimmy Cooper never called anyone by his or her given name: Kirsten was "Kiks," Hailey was "Hailstorm," his sister Marissa was known only as "Riss."

"Hmm?"

"Do you want me to do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know…walk you down the aisle. Give you away."

"You're not my father, Jimmy."

"No, but I am the reason your dress is off-white," he reminded her with a roguish smile, which she returned, remembering. "I mean, if you don't want me to, it's no big deal. I just thought I'd ask. I love you, Kiks, and I'd be happy to do it for you."

"It's okay, Jimmy," she said with a smile. "I'll do it myself." She gave him a painstakingly careful kiss on the cheek, but she still managed to leave lip marks on it. Jimmy closed his eyes.

"Don't marry him," he said suddenly. "Run away with me. Marry me. You'll be so much happier. You and I…we were meant to be. Jimmy Cooper and Kirsten Nichol, that's how it's always been. Four years of your life you were going to be Kirsten Cooper, four of the pivotal years of your life you and I were in love, and Sandy's only had two." She didn't say anything, so he went on. "I mean, Sandy's a great guy, but he doesn't know you like I know you. He doesn't know where you come from, where you've been. I'll bet he doesn't like your family; I'll bet you don't like his. My parents love you…I love you…Kirsten, please." She shook her head.

"Jimmy…" said Kirsten softly. "That part of our lives is over. Yes, four years…four great years…four years of our youth, of our pasts. I'm going to marry Sandy. I love Sandy; it's all going to work out. Besides, what about that girl?"

"What girl?"

"You told my mom you were bringing a girl." Jimmy waved his hand aside.

"Julie Macabre. She's nothing special. I only asked her because there's no way I'd've had the strength to go to _your wedding _alone. I mean, I like her, but she's…she's not you. I always thought I'd go to your wedding _with you. _I could leave her and never think about her again if I had you."

"Jimmy Cooper, don't say that."

"I mean it, Kiks, I love you. I've always loved you. I love you I love you I love you."

"Jimmy," she said softly, and he knew it was over.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't've said that. I know brides get nervous and I had no right making you more nervous."

"I'm not nervous. Don't worry about it."

"Well, can I at least give Kirsten Nichol her last kiss before Sandy makes her Kirsten Cohen?" Kirsten Cohen. She liked the sound of the name. But she nodded anyway, and Jimmy leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips.

"Good luck, Kiks, and be happy. You deserve it." He left the room, and Kirsten sighed. Good-bye Jimmy, please don't let this be a mistake.

Her heart pounded as she walked toward him. Good Lord, but she loved him so much. She missed her dad; she wanted to be on his arm; she didn't want to be alone. Maybe she should've taken Jimmy up on his offer. No, reminded her brain. She saw him on the bride's side of the church, smiling fondly at her as the auburn-haired, green-eyed girl at his side forced a smile. Poor Julie…was her last name really Macabre? Then she was there and Sandy was there and it didn't really matter.

"I, Kirsten…take thee, Sandy…to have and to hold…" She could barely hear her own voice, but she could hear her heart thundering in her chest. Could a person die from being too happy?

Jimmy could barely stand it. Her smile was so big he swore they could see it on the East Coast. She was so happy, she was so beautiful, she was so gone, she was so never-his-again. He turned to Julie. She was beautiful, too, and really, really hot, even if right now all he wanted to look at were long, thin legs and soft blonde hair and delicate, perfect, classic features. She put her hand on his thigh.

"It's ok, James," she said. James. She called him "James." She'd call him "Jimmy" if he asked, but she didn't really know yet.

"Hey, beautiful bride," he said, falsely smiling. She knew it wasn't a real smile, but she let it go. "Mrs. Cohen."

"Hey, Jimmy."

"Will you dance with me, Kiks?" Back to "Kiks." This was his way of trying take it all back, the morning of impassioned declarations of love.

"Sure." His hands wrapped around her waist and stopped at the same places they always did. Her arms came up around his neck and she rubbed his shoulder blades, just as she always did. Her blonde head found its spot on his shoulder. Jimmy couldn't help thinking of how beautiful their babies would be, as long as they looked like her. Blonde babies with Kirsten's blue eyes and Kirsten's nose and Kirsten's mouth and Kirsten's tiny frame…his genes were inconsequential. He was blond; he was slender; he would blend in. Please, Kiks, don't be married, don't be Mrs. Sandy Cohen, not yet, not ever…

_Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick and think of you_

_Caught up in circles confusion is nothing new_

_Flashback—warm nights—almost left behind_

_Suitcase of memories, time after—_

"I love you Kiks," he murmured, quietly so that she wouldn't hear him. She did, but she didn't say anything. She knew that he didn't want to hear her quiet, "I love you too, Jimmy."

He closed his eyes and listened to the song. Every time he'd heard it, he'd thought of her. Now, turning in circles, feeling her body pressed against him, her hair tickling his chin, he knew that "Time After Time" would forever mean Kirsten to him. The song ended too soon, and Sandy and Julie were at their sides. She was gone—their dance was over—she was going back to Sandy's arms to be his beautiful, radiant bride again.

"James, you barely said a word to me all evening," said Julie as she closed the door to Jimmy's apartment behind her. "It's been two years. You need to get over her." He whirled around so quickly that she caught her breath. He almost wanted to hit her, but she was so beautiful that he couldn't do it.

"Julie…you don't understand…how much I loved her. How much I can't help loving her." She faced him without flinching. She was so beautiful, so hot. Her long, reddish-brown hair was hanging around her exotically, fascinatingly attractive face. The killer body with the drop-dead curves wore a short, strappy dark green dress that only made him hotter for her. She was a strong person, too, passionate and fiery and he did find her likeable. And Kirsten wasn't an option anymore; Kirsten was probably getting nailed as he stood there looking at Julie. It physically hurt as he stood there for a moment, eyes closed, imagining him touching her in all the spots on her body that they'd discovered together. He hated to think of anyone else touching her body the way he had, just as he hated anyone else's touching his body. He'd had a few girls since they'd broken up, but every time they got to _that_, he flashed back to his first time. He had loved her so much, and that had made it perfect. He could still see her blue eyes smiling, assuring him that he'd lived up to her expectations, even if he hadn't. And every time he was with a girl now, he'd open his eyes and it wouldn't be her and it wouldn't be good enough. Julie was kissing his chest now. He needed to get laid. He couldn't look at her.

"Open your eyes, James," she commanded, and he did. The hair was darker and thicker. The body was curvier and more muscular. The lips were fuller and the nose—

"I'm not Kirsten Nichol," said Julie firmly. "I'm never going to be Kirsten Nichol. She's married, James. _There is no Kirsten Nichol anymore_. You're never, ever, _ever_ going to have sex with Kirsten Nichol again. And if you can't handle anyone else, you're going to live a very sad, lonely, _unsatisfying _life." Her kisses on his body grew increasingly rough just as her words did, but the physical hurt was arousing. Her lips broke away and Jimmy realized he wanted more.

"But I'm here, and I want you, and I know you want me. Physically, anyway. You have got to get past this girl. Now look at me. Do you want me?" He nodded. "No, I mean, do you want _me_? Because I'm not going to let you close your eyes and imagine I'm her. If we're going to fuck, James Cooper, we're going to do it with each other and leave Kirsten Nichol in the past."


	2. The Best Thing That Ever Happened to YOU

**_just to explain julie's comment that jimmy's getting her pregnant was the best thing that ever happened to _kirsten, _since in this story kirsten clearly chose sandy._**

"I'm just saying, your old car was fine," explained Sandy Cohen patiently, yet again, to his wife of four months. "I don't understand why your dad had to buy you a new one."

"He bought me the old V8 for my sixteenth birthday. That's seven years ago. Plus, he missed our wedding and he wanted to make it up to me," replied Kirsten Cohen. She, too, had repeated her opinion several times.

"But honey! That car must've cost a couple of hundred thousand dollars when it was new, and it's only seven years old now, and you've barely put seventy thousand miles on it. It's a big birthday present to buy you a new one, even if he did miss our wedding." Kirsten shrugged her small shoulders.

"It's a good car. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it. But Dad thought I'd like a new one…you know, he got me an automatic when I was sixteen because I'd just gotten my license and I couldn't handle a manual, but now I prefer it. Plus…I mean…I'm bored of black." She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but that didn't stop Sandy from jumping on them.

"_He bought you a three-hundred-thousand dollar English sports car because you were bored with the color of your previous three-hundred-thousand dollar English sports car?_" Kirsten winced. "Do you have any idea how much money three hundred thousand dollars is? Do you have any idea how many people could live for a year on what your father paid for you to have a car you don't even need."

"Sandy…"

"Kirsten, I love you, and I've always defended you when people have called you a spoiled Newport Beach brat, but you know what honey? You are a spoiled Newport Beach brat. Hundreds of thousands of dollars—for a car."

"It's not just a car, Sandy. It's an Aston Martin Vantage Volante, and it's…" He looked her in the eye.

"Ridiculously expensive. How are you going to pay the insurance? Neither of us makes that kind of money." She lowered her eyes. "Oh, that's right. Neither of us makes enough money to buy that kind of car, either, but it's okay: Daddy will take care of it. Kirsten, how is it that your family has so much money, but nobody ever taught you the value of a dollar?" She didn't bother answering Sandy's rhetorical question; she just stormed out of the house and climbed into her new green convertible, started the car and put it in gear and she was gone.

Jimmy Cooper's doorbell was ringing furiously. He turned to his new fiancée.

"I'll get it, Jules. You just sit tight." Planting a kiss on her soft lips, he answered the door. Kirsten Cohen stood on the doorstep, crying. When she saw Jimmy, her arms went around his neck and their lips met.

"Hey, hey, hey, Kiks, what's this?" he asked nervously, pulling away.

"You were right," she said miserably. "This is too hard. He doesn't know me—he doesn't understand." Looking right into his eyes, she said, "I should've married you." Then she was sobbing into his chest again.

"Hey…" said Jimmy, trying to soothe her as he rubbed her back. "What happened?" Kirsten sniffled.

"You remember my old car?"

"Sure, the little black Aston Martin V8. Of course I remember it. You've had that car a long time, haven't you?"

"Since my sixteenth birthday, seven years. So…you know it's been a big year, right? And my dad missed my wedding, and he's not even going to be in town for my twenty-third birthday. So he sent me my present early. It's a new Vantage Volante, and it's absolutely the coolest thing in the world."

"That's awesome," congratulated Jimmy. "But let me guess. Sandy doesn't think so?" She shook her blonde head.

"He thinks it's too expensive and I'm a spoiled brat."

"He used those exact words?" asked Jimmy, surprised. Sandy seemed like such a sweet guy.

"Actually, it was 'spoiled Newport Beach brat,' if you want the exact words," she told him.

"He can't mean that. You're the best person I know, Kiks. You're no spoiled brat; he's just not used to cars."

"But it's not just that, Jimmy. Sandy and I…I mean, he doesn't get it. He doesn't understand that because my dad's wealthy, money doesn't have to be a big deal. He doesn't get that money _isn't _a big deal. He just…I mean, he hears three hundred thousand dollars and he flips. I _love _him, but maybe we just weren't meant to be together. Maybe I should be with you; maybe I should have listened to you on my wedding day. It's not too late. Can we still run away, Jimmy, and spend our lives with people who do get it?" Jimmy sighed. He would have given so much to hear Kirsten say all that when she married Sandy. Even if it had come as recently as a week ago, even with his loving Julie, he would've had a hard time passing her up. But now…now, everything was different. Probably for the best, really—she didn't actually want to be with him; she was just mad at Sandy. If he'd been free, he just would've let Kirsten break his heart again.

"I can't, Kiks. I'm marrying Julie." She stared at him blankly.

"Why?" When he didn't answer immediately, she continued. "You said at the wedding that you didn't love her. You said that you could forget about her easily if you had me."

"And you said that you'd love me forever and that I'd be the only one," said Jimmy flatly. "But that was a long time ago. That was then…I'm in love with Julie now."

"But…"

"You've moved on. You've fallen in love. Why is it not all right for me to do the same?" Kirsten stared blankly. She hated admitting it even to herself, but Jimmy had been her "way out." A part of her liked knowing that he was pining for her, that if she ever wanted out, Jimmy would be there. And now he was marrying Julie. What?

"It is…it's just…"

"Yeah, well, she's pregnant, too, if that's what you were thinking. The wedding's next month. Your invitation should be in the mail," he finished. "Yours and Sandy's," he reminded her, almost as an afterthought. "Kiks, you know you love him…not me." She chuckled ruefully.

"I guess this is why it's hard for exes to stay friends," said Kirsten pragmatically. "This is…I mean…yes, you're right of course. I'm in love with Sandy, and I'm happy with him. It's just that there are some parts of my life that he can't seem to understand."

"Give him time. He will. Or maybe he won't. As long as he understands most of you, you've got all you've a right to ask for." She nodded.

"Yeah. I guess, well, three hundred grand may be a bit much for a car, anyway."

"It is," agreed Jimmy. "My 911 cost a lot less. But, hey, your dad's the richest guy in the county. If he wants to buy his daughter a new Aston Martin to try to make up for not being at her wedding and not being at her birthday, hey, you deserve the car."

"Jimmy!" called Julie from inside the house. "Who is it?"

"Kirsten," he called back, without thinking. "And Sandy," as an afterthought.

"I should go," Kirsten said softly. "Bye, Jimmy." She turned around and walked to the new car.


	3. Making Up

"Kirsten, baby, I'm sorry," said Sandy as she walked through the door. He stood up and gently placed his hands on her hips. "I never should have given you any grief about that car. I never should have called you a spoiled brat, not when you're the most wonderful person in the world and I love you so much. It's just…I hate how your father's always trying to buy your love. But you're right. It's not being rich that does that to people…and I guess…I'm sorry that I won't be able to spoil our kids like that." Kirsten looked at her husband's face and saw earnest insecurity shining through his eyes. Suddenly, she felt truly terrible for going to Jimmy's.

"It's okay. You were right, too, for the record. It's a lot of money for a car, and I am spoiled. I don't know the value of a dollar." She shrugged. "Comes with the territory. Maybe I'd be a better person if I'd had to work for every cent, or maybe I wouldn't. It's all water under the bridge, anyway. This is who I am."

"I know, and I love you," he told her, bending to kiss her. Kirsten closed her eyes and felt his warm lips kiss hers tentatively, as though he were afraid that she'd tell him to stop.

"By the way, this came in the mail today," Sandy told her when the kiss ended, offering her a small card-shaped envelope addressed to "Mr. and Mrs. Sanford Cohen." "It's from some family called Macabre." He grinned impishly. "What a name." Her smile faltered.

"It's Jimmy Cooper's girlfriend's name," she explained, taking what was obviously the wedding invitation Jimmy had told her was in the mail. "Julie Macabre. I'll bet this is a wedding invitation." She slit it open with her fingernail.

"_Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Macabre cordially request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of their daughter, Julie Diana, to James Cooper, Jr., son of Mr. and Mrs. James Cooper, on the twenty-fourth of June, nineteen eighty-five…"_ read Sandy over her shoulder. "Congratulations."

"Yeah, and a baby on the way," said Kirsten dryly. Sandy looked at her sharply.

"How do you know?" She sighed. Time to bite the bullet. There could be no secrets. Only…she wasn't going to say that she kissed him. That part, she reasoned, was okay to leave out.

"After you yelled at me today, I drove over to Jimmy's," she admitted. "We didn't do anything," she quickly assured him, "we just talked. I mean, I was really happy about the new car, and you weren't, and I just…wanted someone to be excited with me. Anyway, he told me." Sandy's look softened, but he still looked hurt.

"So we were fighting, and you went to your ex-boyfriend's to feel better," he established.

"It wasn't like that," Kirsten semi-lied. "I just…Jimmy and I, we come from the same world. His sixteenth birthday present was a Porsche 911. He understands."

"…Rich people?" offered Sandy sarcastically.

"Yes."

Well, at least she was upfront. He admired that about her. Still, it hurt. Sandy had never been sorry about working his way to where he was; in fact, he had been proud of it, until he met Kirsten Nichol. Her striking, sheltered beauty had hidden a fighting spirit, and he'd fallen hard for her, all memories of Rebecca Bloom wiped from his mind. But Rebecca had been so different. He had belonged in her world, whereas in Kirsten's, he'd never felt more out of his league. Everyone was so beautiful, and everything was so expensive, and no one ever seemed to notice. Kirsten Nichol had been the most beautiful, richest girl he'd ever met, and even in Newport Beach she was special—the golden girl—but it had been not about her beauty and wealth but rather her perfect grades, perfect community activity, perfect social status, and perfect boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, rather…Sandy had realized early on that when it came to Newport Beach society, he wasn't going to live up to the Great and Wonderful Jimmy Cooper. And now she had gone to him, of her own free will, because Sandy didn't understand. He never would understand what it was to be spoiled, he realized, not even if Kirsten inherited her dad's millions and spoiled him for the rest of his life.

"I love you," she said to break the silence. "I love you so much. I'm so glad I said 'no' when Jimmy asked me to marry him."

"He asked you to marry him?" demanded Sandy. Kirsten laughed.

"When we were seventeen. Dad put him up to it. I was trying to be funny." Sandy laughed. Jimmy-jokes, he would never find funny, but for her sake he would pretend to be okay.

"I love you too, baby. I'm glad you were smart enough to…not get engaged at seventeen." They stood in the foyer for awhile, just kissing softly. Every time he touched her body, Sandy got shivers. She was so beautiful, so amazing, so very nearly perfect, and he couldn't believe that he was _allowed _to touch her, let alone kiss her, never mind actually being her husband. Suddenly, he felt her catch the hem of his shirt in her hands and gently pull it over his head.

"Should we—ah—move this to the bedroom?" Sandy asked, freeing his lips from hers for just long enough to make his query. Kirsten shrugged her shoulders and placed her lips on his again.

"We can if you want, but we don't have to," she said. "It's our house, after all. No one's coming…door's locked…only downside's the floor's a little cold."

It _was_ cold, but he didn't mind.


	4. Dresses

"I need to call my dad," said Kirsten lazily, reveling in the comfort of the moment. They'd managed to move as far as the living room couch for the aftermath. Sandy groaned.

"You have to bring up your father now? Kirsten, baby, why?" She laughed slightly.

"I'll need to buy a dress for Jimmy's wedding."

"And you need his money to get one? Baby, we may not be the richest couple in Berkeley, but we've got enough money to buy a dress."

"Not for a Newport Beach wedding," she told him. "Prices are adjusted between your world—our world—and the Newport Beach world. What you'd pay for a car, Newpsies'd pay for a dress. And it's Jimmy's wedding. I'd have to be hopelessly in denial to think that people aren't going to be looking at me at least as much as they're looking at Julie's midriff."

"Ah, the Jimmy Cooper/Kirsten Nichol saga," said Sandy lightly but sarcastically. "Right…well, I've seen how many dresses you have way in the back of our closet. You can't wear one of those?"

"Sandy…" started Kirsten, and then she faltered. This would be hard to say. "Sandy, all the dresses from when I was a teenager? They scream 'Jimmy' to me and to everyone in Newport."

"I can't believe that. Not _every _dress." She half-smiled and stood up. He admired her mostly-naked body as she did so, and followed her as she went to their room.

"Now, this one," explained Kirsten as she held out a plain, strapless white dress, "was my cotillion dress. Jimmy was my escort." She carefully hung the dress back up and removed a peach silk minidress. "I was the junior class homecoming princess in this one…guess who took me to the dance?" The third dress was a strappy black one that would have hit her at the knees if she'd taken the time to put it on. "And this was my favorite casual dress. I wore it to so many parties and after-parties…" She shook her head, smiling slightly at the memories. Then she pulled out a floor-length royal blue satin gown, plain but striking and clearly breathtaking on her. "This was my junior prom dress. We probably don't have to get into that one."

Sandy wanted to say something, wanted to say that nobody would remember, but he knew he'd be lying. Kirsten would remember. Jimmy would remember. Caleb Nichol and Danielle Cooper would remember. He inhaled sharply as she pulled out a knee-length, ruffled, pink dress.

"I wore this to Marissa Cooper's wedding. She was Jimmy's older sister," she explained at Sandy's look of confusion. "I was a bridesmaid. And…well…I lost my virginity in this dress. Or, you know, shortly after I took it off. So it's a no." She was trying to be flippant, but it was getting harder given the pained looks on her husband's face.

"Do you understand now? Sandy, I love you so much…and every black-tie dress in the closet, except my wedding dress, says Jimmy…because the Newport Beach Kirsten was Jimmy's girlfriend, his armpiece. This Kirsten, the Kirsten I am now, the Kirsten I want to be? She's your wife, and hopelessly in love with you, but she doesn't have anything to wear to a Newport Beach wedding." He looked at her. He'd known she had a past when he met her—hell, he'd been engaged to another girl as well. Still, it hurt to have her document every fancy-dress experience she'd had with her ex-boyfriend. He was just glad she'd stopped before the senior prom; he wasn't strong enough yet to hear that story. He wanted to be her everything; he didn't need reminders that he'd arrived too late for her to only have memories of him.

"It's okay, baby. Go to your dad."

"I love you. And…I mean…it's all in the past, right? These dresses…they don't mean anything to me except memories of when I was a teenager. I'm a different person from when I was sixteen. And please don't forget," she added. "It was well within my prerogative to marry Jimmy, but I didn't. I love you more than I ever loved him; he's just…familiar…because I've known him longer."

"I understand," said Sandy, and she smiled.

"You're the most wonderful husband in the whole world," Kirsten cooed, dropping the pink dress to the floor and wrapping her arms around her husband. "Oh, Sandy. I love you so much." His arms came around her, and she smiled contentedly.

"I love you, too, Kirsten. You're the top…you're the Coliseum…you're the top…you're the Louvre museum…" She laughed at the Cole Porter.

"Always singing."

"It's who you married."

"I know, and I love it."


	5. Lessons in Manliness

"Sandy?" called Kirsten as she walked through the hall adjacent to the bedroom. "Sandy, are you ready? You don't want to be late for graduation…"

Okay. You can do this. It's just a tie. Sandy Cohen examined his appearance in the mirror. He couldn't tell his wife that he'd gotten a friend to tie his tie for undergrad commencement. Kirsten didn't know about this masculine deficiency. Jimmy probably learned from his dad as a little boy…

"Sandy. We have to go." God she was beautiful. The ruffle-y yellow sundress was the prettiest dress in the world because his wife was wearing it.

"Sandy. Why aren't you wearing a tie?" He kissed her as a non-response. Suddenly Kirsten laughed.

"Do you want me to teach you?" She can do it? She's amazing.

"Uh…yeah, baby…what, no teasing about how I'm twenty-five years old, and I should be able to tie my own ties by now?" She laughed.

"Those can wait. We're late." Kirsten's deft fingers quickly tied the blue silk tie she'd bought him the week before. "There you go. Now, let's go."

"You are officially the world's coolest wife."

"Thank you." They kissed, and for a moment Sandy contemplated skipping graduation.

"Let's go." Never mind. Kirsten wouldn't let him.

She was so proud of her husband. He'd set out to be a lawyer, and here he was. He didn't seem to want to tell her much about his life pre-law school; the story tended to go, "My life sucked, and then I met you," but she knew how much of an accomplishment this was to Sandy.

The ceremony itself was long, hot, and boring. After they got through the "C"s, Kirsten started to zone out, her smile surgically attached and her clapping hands on autopilot. She wanted to get home.

"Kirsten." And now it was over, and Sandy was kissing her cheek.

"Congratulations, Sandy. I'm so proud of you." Another kiss. "Your mom's over there, if you want to go talk to her."

"I probably should…but tonight, baby? You're teaching me how to tie a tie myself." Kirsten laughed.

"I promise. It's not that hard, you know." Sandy rolled his eyes.

"Sure, it's not for you, because you already know how to do it." She laughed again and kissed him.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Kirsten was still in love with the endearments, no matter how nauseated they made her friends. She often wondered how she'd gotten lucky enough to meet someone like Sandy. It never would have happened if she'd followed her father's plan for her. Through the strange course of events her life had taken since she left for college, though, the world had led her to this nice Jewish boy from New York, and she couldn't have been happier. Sandy was off talking animatedly to his mother, and Kirsten smiled. It didn't matter that Mrs. Cohen absolutely detested her daughter-in-law; she and Sandy had a great relationship, and it made Kirsten happy. She'd never trusted a man who was angry with his mother all the time.

What a beautiful life this was turning out to be.

"Okay, baby, the maternal greetings are over. Let's go." His arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her off the ground. Kirsten, self-conscious but delighted, giggled.

"All right, the wide end goes on your right side," she patiently explained, draping the tie as she spoke. "Now, it doesn't have to be a lot longer than the thin end, but since you're new at this, you're probably going to want to start with it much longer." She slowly tied the knot, her hands brushing against his neck with every step.

"Sandy, open your eyes. You're not going to learn if your eyes are closed."

"Well, why do I have to learn? It's much more fun having you, my beautiful, sexy, talented wife do it." Kirsten grabbed the knot she'd just made and pulled him to her for a kiss.

"I know. But it's a rite of passage for all Western males. Besides, your new job is going to start much earlier than I care to wake, and you are not going to be one of those guys who have all their ties tied and just loosen and tighten the knots. Okay. Let's start over, and Sandy? Watch this time."


	6. Jimmy and Julie

"Well…what do you think?" asked Kirsten self-consciously as Sandy came into the bedroom. She turned slowly, allowing him to survey her slender figure in its Jimmy's-wedding attire. It was a slip of a dress, smooth green silk with a crisscross back and a knee-length skirt that twirled when she walked. She had draped a floaty blue scarf over her bare shoulders and done her blonde hair in a slightly messy, half-up fashion.

"You look gorgeous," he said, and she did. He paused as he looked at her. "Have I seen that dress before?"

"I don't think so. I showed it to you when I bought it, but other than that…I've only worn it twice, and once was in the dressing room." She decided not to mention that the auburn-haired girl next to Jimmy in the wedding picture had been wearing a dress the exact same shade of green.

"Well, it looks _ravishing _on you." Sandy turned and placed his hands on Kirsten's waist. The fabric was so fine that it felt as though he had put his hands on her bare skin. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Thanks." Kirsten's own hands idled their way up her husband's back, fingertips reaching for his shoulder blades. "I see you tied your tie." He smiled.

"The first challenge. I'm getting there, baby." She kissed him affectionately. He had to be the most kind-hearted man she'd ever known.

"How much longer 'til we have to go?" she murmured in his ear. Sandy's left hand came up behind her back, and he glanced over her shoulder at the time.

"Half an hour?" he guessed.

"And…uh…how quick can we be?" came Kirsten's silky whisper.

"Quick enough."

Some time later, a heavily flushed Kirsten Cohen stood up. Panties down around her ankles and dress bunched around her waist, "disheveled" was the only word that quite did her justice. Her husband was doing up his pants, and he looked at his watch.

"I think we need to get going, Kirsten," he said, glancing at her feet in their little, strappy, sexy sandals.

"Wait, Sandy, I need to fix my makeup," she said worriedly, checking out her face in the mirror. She rubbed the mascara from under her eyes and reapplied her lipstick. Then, brush in hand, she examined her hair.

"You look gorgeous," Sandy repeated. "Let's go."

They arrived at the wedding with just enough time. Kirsten greeted her parents while Sandy stood awkwardly, trying to determine just how much Caleb Nichol hated him. Oh, well, his mother didn't exactly care for Kirsten. This was just paying his dues.

"Kirsten, darling, you look incredible," gushed a tall, thin woman with long light brown hair that had been swept cleanly off her face.

"Mrs. Cooper, hi," said Kirsten guardedly, kissing the woman's cheek.

"Oh, don't call me 'Mrs. Cooper,' darling, just because you and Jimmy aren't together any longer. 'Danielle' is still fine." Kirsten smiled. Danielle Cooper was such a nice woman, if she was a bit smothering. She almost always knew the right thing to say in a tough situation.

"Oh, look at you," she fussed. "So grown-up! I don't think I've seen you in, what, three years?"

"You saw me at my wedding, Danielle," reminded Kirsten.

"You know, I don't think I did," said Danielle pensively. "I mean, of course I saw you—you were a stunning bride—but we didn't talk. It's been too long, dear. I hope we can still be friends; that was the saddest thing about you and Jimmy's breakup. I always wanted you for a daughter-in-law."

"I'm sure Julie's nice." A dark look crossed Danielle Cooper's face.

"She's trash, dear. Nice enough, I suppose, but not _nice_. Her manners are appalling…I mean, she tries, at least around Jim and me. But it's a shame, I'll tell you that. Maybe Jimmy's in love with her now, but if he hadn't gotten her pregnant, he would have eventually found someone else. I blame Jim, personally. He told Jimmy that we'd disown him if he didn't end the affair with Julie, and, well, you know Jimmy."

"I certainly do," said Kirsten vaguely. She suddenly didn't want to talk to Mrs. Cooper anymore, which was sad, because she'd always liked Jimmy's mother. Their relationship, however, seemed to be completely unable to survive Jimmy's and her marriages to different people.

"Oh, look, there's Marissa," Kirsten awkwardly pointed out. "I should go say hi." She quickly crossed the room to say hello to Jimmy's beautiful older sister.

Marissa Whitman, _née _Marissa Eleanor Cooper, had been like a sister to Kirsten practically since she and Jimmy had met. Like her mother, she was tall and rail-like, but in a good way. She had long hair of the same shade of light brown as Danielle, and big eyes and effortless grace. At thirty, she was seven years older than Jimmy, and her six-year-old marriage had produced so far a daughter named for Kirsten. Marissa had been the one to teach Kirsten about kissing, about sex, about boys and life in general. As Kirsten caught her eye, she smiled the heartbreaking smile that had made her famous among Newport society.

"Hey, Kirsten," she said softly, offering her a glass of champagne. "We probably shouldn't be drinking before the ceremony, but what the hell, right?" Kirsten took the glass.

"Drink up. Anything to forget that my brother's marrying Julie Macabre."

"You don't like her, either?" asked Kirsten, surprised. "I mean, I know Danielle thinks she's trash, but you, Marissa?" Marissa shook her head and tipped the contents of her own glass back down her throat.

"She's not you, Kirsten. She's about a million miles away from you."

"Jimmy doesn't have to marry a girl like me, you know, as long as he's happy."

"He's happy, all right, at least for now. But…I mean…it's too soon. He hasn't known her long enough. He doesn't even really know his own heart, you know? If you ask me, he's still rebounding from your wedding. Don't tell him I said that," she warned.

"I won't," Kirsten said quickly.

"Jimmy…he…I mean, he says he loves her, and I believe that he does. I just wish that he'd had more time. He wouldn't be marrying her, not yet and maybe not ever, if she weren't going to have a baby."

"What, you don't think it's his?" Marissa picked up another glass and downed it quickly.

"No, I know it's his. Julie loves him; that's her one true saving grace. I just never envisioned this for my brother, you know? He's still my baby brother…he shouldn't be knocking girls up and having to marry them before he's ready."

"Mmm," said Kirsten, taking another sip of champagne. "What has it been, five months?"

"Yeah. Your wedding, I think that was maybe the second or third time he took her out. She's only eighteen."

"_Eighteen_?" asked Kirsten, shocked.

"Well, eighteen and a half, maybe," amended Marissa with a smirk. "And about four months pregnant."

"Jimmy made quick work of her," Kirsten noted dryly. "So how's your life?" She abruptly changed the subject.

"It's good. It's really good, actually. Kirsten is…oh, she's so beautiful."

"Where is she?"

"Rob has her, somewhere," answered Marissa vaguely. "Oh, wait…we need to go now, I think. The wedding's starting." The women exchanged smiles and hugs, and Kirsten went off to find both Sandy and a seat.

It was odd watching Jimmy come down the aisle in his tuxedo, and even odder when the parade of bridesmaids in pale blue followed. The church rose as a whole when Julie came, and Kirsten craned to get a look at the now-infamous Julie Macabre.

She was about average height, and though Marissa had said she was four months pregnant, Kirsten would never have guessed if she didn't know. She had quite a nice figure, and while the dress was not to Kirsten's taste—too streamlined and not romantic enough—it certainly wasn't in bad taste. Julie had reddish-brown hair that had been pulled into a French twist and beautiful green cat's eyes. She looked nervous but happy, and Kirsten decided that she probably wasn't as bad as Danielle and Marissa seemed to think. Jimmy said he was in love with her, after all, and Kirsten knew if no one else did that Jimmy didn't take those words lightly.

Sandy squeezed her hand.

"You okay?" he asked. Much as it pained him to think that Kirsten would be hurting at Jimmy Cooper's wedding, he wanted to be there for her if she was.

"Yeah, actually," she realized. "I'm happy for him." She turned to her husband with a disarmingly sweet smile. "I have you, and you're all I want. I can't wish him anything more than that Julie makes him half as happy as you're making me." She took his hand in her lap and rubbed the knuckle as the ceremony started.


	7. Over

Kirsten stood awkwardly with her glass of champagne. She was getting cold and worried about her dress. Perhaps the silk was a bit too sheer, she mused…she felt as though her every pore were visible through it.

"Hey, Kirsten. I'm glad you came." Jimmy. Hi, Jimmy.

"Hey. Congratulations," she said, turning to give him a friendly kiss on the cheek. "It was a lovely wedding, and Julie is, frankly, stunning." Jimmy raised his eyebrows, bemused.

"Um, 'lovely wedding?' 'Frankly stunning?' Am I talking to Kirsten Nichol, or…?"

"No; you're talking to Kirsten Cohen," she said, smoothly. Then she smiled sweetly. "But, really, Jimmy, it was nice. You deserve all the congratulations in the world." Still, he didn't feel as though her smile rang true.

"I love her, Kirsten."

"I know you do. And I'm happy for you, really."

"She's the right girl for me, Kiks," he said slowly, and she winced at his reverting to the nickname. The nickname was reserved for the girl she had been, the girl he had loved, the girl who was gone forever, and now it just sounded odd. "Just like Sandy's the right guy for you. See, I…I need a woman who's more than willing to tell me what to do. Let's face it; I have always been a man in search of a woman to boss me around. Don't say you don't know it," he warned her, as Kirsten began to open her mouth to deny his comment. "I know that's at least part of the reason you broke up with me. It's who I am, and I…I can accept that. You, on the other hand, need a man with a bit more backbone. You need a man who'll fight with you, and not just when you feel like arguing. You need a man who…has opinions, and sticks up for them. You need a man who loves you more than the world, but doesn't want to be your yes-man. And lucky us," finished Jimmy, finally coming up for air. "We found our perfect matches." Kirsten nodded, her fond, loving smile fixated on Sandy, who was awkwardly trying to talk to some Newpsie-or-other.

"It's just weird, you know?" she said. The band began to play a slow song, and they both hesitated as they remembered the singer at Kirsten's wedding who'd rendered such a nice version of "Time After Time."

"Do you…" started Jimmy. He just let the words hang. She looked so beautiful, so familiar but so different. The green dress brought out the blue of her eyes, and the soft hair hanging about her face…

No. No, it wasn't a good idea, they both realized before the sentence was finished. Besides, they didn't need it. There was no need to toast nostalgia when they had both moved on.

Kirsten's arms reached around Jimmy's shoulders and she hugged him.

"There will always be a place in my heart for Jimmy Cooper," she said softly.

"And…there'll always be a place in my heart for Kirsten Nichol," he replied. He placed a slight emphasis on her maiden name that did not go unnoticed. She turned and began to walk away.

"Kirsten?" he called, and she turned. She was so beautiful.

"Yes?"

"Do you think…do you think that this would've been easier if we'd just…broken on bad terms and never spoken again, never tried to be friends?" She regarded him evenly.

"Yes, I do," was her soft response. His face began to fall.

"But nothing worth having is easy, right? You're a good man, James Fenimore Cooper," she teased. He did hate _The Last of the Mohicans _enough for it to still be fun. "Friendship will be worth it."

"Definitely…Kirsten Angela Cohen." Unfortunately, there was no literary joke that fit her, but she did hate her middle name, so it was the best that Jimmy could do. She smiled. "Thanks for coming."

"Thanks for having us." She turned again, and this time she walked surely over to her husband.

"Hey, Kirsten," Sandy said, his lips meeting hers in greeting. Glancing down at her body, he noted, "You look cold," and without a word, he took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Thanks."

Another slow song began to play, and his arms went around her waist.

"Dance with me." She was only too happy to comply.

_I have been a rover_

_I have walked alone_

_Hiked a hundred highways_

_Never found a home_

_Still, in all I'm happy_

_Reason is, you see_

_Once in awhile, along the way_

_Love's been good to me_

Sandy sang along with the singer, and Kirsten closed her eyes. She had never been able to determine if the Frank Sinatra song were a happy or sad one. It had always been a bit melancholy for her taste, but there was no question as to her feelings when Sandy was singing to her.

"I love you, Sandy," she murmured sleepily. It had been a long day.

"I love you, too, Kirsten." She smelled the faint scent of his cologne and smiled. His arms were the safest, the warmest, the most wonderful place in the world to be.

"You smell nice."

"So do you," said Sandy, pausing from his singing long enough to inhale the fragrance of her shampoo. He was so glad she'd avoided the heavy hairspray so many other girls wore.

"We're lucky, aren't we?"

"I know I'm the happiest man in the world…so, yes, I suppose we are." Kirsten smiled into his neck.

"I don't really want to stay much longer," she told him. "I already said congratulations to Jimmy, so if I can just say hello to Julie and goodbye to Marissa and Mr. and Mrs. Cooper…can we leave?"

"Of course we can," he said without interrupting their dance. As the last strains of the music faded away, Kirsten snapped back to reality and opened her eyes to find her husband looking at her. She instinctively smiled again and kissed him.

"Julie," Kirsten called when the new Mrs. Cooper walked by. The young woman's ruddy head turned. So many people had spoken to her today whom she'd never met! But there was no mistaking who the girl in the green dress was.

"Hi, Kirsten," she said, clearly trying. Kirsten gave her an honest smile.

"Congratulations. He's a good guy. You're a lucky girl." Julie smiled, still a bit wary.

"Yeah…yeah, I am. Thanks, Kirsten. I hope you two had a good time."

"We did," Sandy assured her. "It was a beautiful wedding." Julie smiled again, and finally seemed comfortable.

"I'm glad. Thanks again, Kirsten. You know, I especially value it from you." The two women smiled at each other, and with that, Julie Cooper walked away.

She sought out Danielle and Jim Cooper and complimented them on the elegant and tasteful wedding. They thanked her a little bit too heartily, and Kirsten knew that they still weren't ready for her to be their son's ex-girlfriend. Poor, poor Mr. and Mrs. Cooper; it always took the adults too long to realize what their children had learned. Jimmy was right: he was better off with Julie, and Kirsten hoped for his sake that his parents realized it.

Lastly, she needed to bid farewell to Marissa. Marissa, who was the closest thing to an older sister she had. Marissa, who'd named her daughter after Kirsten. Marissa, who was polishing off yet another drink in the corner. Kirsten made a mental note to talk to Marissa about her drinking; while they'd both always loved a glass of…whatever…Marissa seemed to be going too far.

"Hey, Riss," said Kirsten softly, using Jimmy's nickname for her.

"Oh, hi, Kirsten," was the dully-spoken response. "I guess it's done now? Julie Macabre is Mrs. Jimmy Cooper, and there's nothing I can do about it." Kirsten frowned.

"She seems nice…and like the kind of girl Jimmy should be with." Marissa laughed bitterly. The alcohol had clearly gone to her head.

"Yeah, a whore-y dominatrix. I just…I always thought you'd be my sister-in-law."

"Jimmy's getting married doesn't have to affect our relationship," said Kirsten softly.

"But it has," Marissa pointed out, just as softly. "We used to hang out all the time, and now, today is the first time I've spoken to you since your wedding. I half-wish that you and Jimmy would stay seventeen forever. Life was good when you and Jimmy were seventeen."

"It was a good year," Kirsten admitted, and it had been. The end of junior year and the beginning of senior year had been so picture-perfect that she almost didn't believe the memory.

"Yeah. And now I'm old and you're married and Julie Macabre is my sister-in-law…and the worst part of it is you're right. You shouldn't have married Jimmy; I've known that for years. But I was selfish and wanted you to." She looked straight into Kirsten's blue eyes with her doe-like brown ones. "Jimmy—on paper, he was right for you. Just like…Well, no matter. Can't change what's done. But—God. I wish we had 1979 forever and ever and ever…" She poured a martini down her throat and winced. "Remind me not to drive home."

"Actually, we're leaving now," said Kirsten, trying to keep the pity from her eyes. This couldn't be. Marissa Cooper was beautiful and intelligent and accomplished and put-together. She was bright and funny and wise and loving. Marissa was many things, but the bitter, drunken sister of the groom at a wedding was not one of them. What had happened to her old friend, and why hadn't she noticed?

"Do you want to come with us?" Might as well ask; the girl didn't seem to want to stay and there was room in Sandy's car. Marissa shook her head.

"I'm his sister. I need to fake the welcoming-family bit a little longer. God knows Mom and Dad can't do it."

"You're sure you're going to be okay with all the drinks?" asked Kirsten hesitantly.

"You know I hold my liquor better than any girl in Orange County," said Marissa with a laugh. "Well…except maybe you, when you try." Both women smiled thinly.

"Okay, then. Bye, Marissa. Take care of yourself." She reached her arms around Marissa's thin body.

"You, too, Kirsten. Love you."

"Love you, too." Kirsten turned and Marissa watched her leave, taking Sandy's arm and kissing him and whispering and giggling. Her eyes turned next to her little daughter, blonde-haired, brown-eyed, and pretty. Please, God, let Kirsten Whitman turn out like Kirsten Nichol did. Be good to my little girl.

"You okay, baby?" asked Sandy with concern, eyeing Kirsten through his peripheral vision.

"Yeah…no, not really," she admitted.

"Jimmy?" he asked quietly. Kirsten shook her head.

"His sister, Marissa. She's so sad, Sandy, and I'm not even sure why. I mean, she says it's Julie and Jimmy, but I know it's not that. We…we used to be such good friends. She was the one who took me to get a birth-control pill prescription, you know? We were close, and we aren't anymore, and it's sad." Sandy took his right hand off the wheel long enough to stroke her leg gently.

"Yeah, I know."

"Sandy? Thanks for being so nice about the whole Jimmy's-wedding thing."

"Anything for you, you know that. I love you."

"I love you more." He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, let's not start _that_." She giggled. Life had been good, Marissa was right, six years ago, but she wholly believed that it was better now.


	8. A Promise

Later that night, after Sandy had fallen asleep, a smile playing on his lips, Kirsten sat on the sofa in the living room of her parents' beach house as she leafed through a photo album. Skipping past pictures of her and Jimmy, her and Hailey, her and Dad and Mom, she finally reached the picture for which she'd been searching. It was Marissa Cooper's bridal party. There were four girls in knee-length, ruffled pink dresses with V-necks and wide straps standing in a group, with Marissa in the center. That had been the day when Kirsten had dubbed Marissa "the girl from Ipanema," as she was "tall and tan and young and lovely." Kirsten studied the photograph for a long time before flipping the page. Her in her pink dress posing with Jimmy in his tux…a "Cooper family shot" with her in it at Jimmy's side…a candid of Jimmy kissing her cheek as she smiled bashfully…and, there it was, her with the bride. As much as it had been Marissa's day, Kirsten had to admit that she'd been thinking of other things. She'd decided that morning to sleep with Jimmy after the wedding, and the thought had been on her mind all day. She hadn't paid as much attention to what was going on around her…How many times had she seen this picture? Hundreds, thousands—it was one of her favorites. And yet she'd never noticed how less-than-thrilled Marissa's telltale eyes were.

She turned the page again and saw the perfectly posed photograph of the bride and groom. Rob was so handsome. Like Marissa, he was tall and thin, with fair hair and brown eyes. He had been a perfect match for her socially, too; the Whitmans were wealthy and prominent, and Marissa and Rob had dated on and off since junior high. Kirsten couldn't imagine Marissa without Rob smiling in the background, metaphorically if not always literally.

Was that the problem? Was that how Marissa had known that Kirsten was better off not being Jimmy's wife?

She stood, walked to the mantle, and retrieved the picture of her and Sandy at their wedding that her mother had added just before she and Sandy had arrived. Carefully, she studied her own face. Kirsten had never been the type to spend hours staring at her own likeness—she knew that she was beautiful but rarely saw her own beauty when she looked in the mirror—but she liked the wedding picture. There was something about her face that sparkled so much that even she could see that she was pretty.

That light was missing from Marissa's face. How could she have had her mind so much on losing her virginity that it had taken her six years to notice that Marissa hadn't looked at all like a bride?

Sandy rolled over in his sleep, and when he didn't bump into Kirsten's soft body, he woke. Where was she? He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shuffled his way through the door. There was a lamp on in the living room, and a blonde head on the couch.

"Kirsten, it's late," he said in a soft voice. "What's wrong?" She turned, and the pain in her blue eyes could've broken his heart.

"I'm a terrible friend. I didn't notice," she said. Her voice was breaking slightly, and Sandy quickly crossed the small room to sit next to her and run his hand up and down her back.

"Jimmy's sister?" Kirsten nodded, and he pulled her closer to him. "Baby, it's okay…we'll call her in the morning, all right?" Kirsten shook her head.

"It took me six years to figure out that she doesn't look the way a bride should look…she's not happy; she's not glowing; I should've called her more often all these years…six years," she repeated.

"Maybe it just took you six years to figure out how a bride should look," said Sandy softly but pointedly, gesturing to the portrait of the two of them on their wedding day. "You need to sleep, though, Kirsten. You can call her in the morning."

Except she couldn't.

"Sandy Cohen," Sandy said as he answered the phone.

"Hello," said a male voice Sandy didn't recognize. "Jim Cooper here. Is, uh, Kirsten around?"

"She's still sleeping," Sandy told Mr. Cooper. "She got to bed late last night. Is everything all right?"

"No. Marissa…my daughter, Marissa Whitman…she, uh, she crashed her car driving home last night from the wedding." Sandy was shocked speechless.

"Yeah, um, they took her BAC; it was something like 0.15—obscenely high, especially for a woman as thin as Marissa. And…there were high amounts of painkillers. Nothing fancy, just aspirin, but in high amounts with so much alcohol in her blood…she's dead, Sandy. The autopsy said she was killed on impact."

"So she didn't suffer," was all that Sandy could manage to say.

"Not according to the note," said Jim Cooper sadly. "The police think it might have been intentional. I mean, obviously, not really intentional; no one thinks straight when they're so drunk…but there was a suicide note. 'Life…'" His voice began to break. "'Life is pain, and nothing in the world can dull it for me anymore. I'm leaving, sorry for anyone I take with me. Love to Mommy and Daddy, Jimmy, Kirsten, and Kirsten. Rob…I know you tried. I tried, too. Marissa.'"

"She could write that with a BAC of 0.15?" asked Sandy incredulously because he couldn't think of anything else.

"Well…they think that it might've been planned, but she's still our little girl. We're going to believe that it was spur-of-the-moment unless it's absolutely necessary to believe otherwise." The man's voice had broken by this point, and Sandy decided it was best to stop pressing.

"Thanks for calling," he said. "I'm sorry for your loss." The phone clicked.

What was he going to tell Kirsten?

The funeral was set for Sunday, June 30. Jimmy and Julie, their honeymoon cut short, stood side-by-side in their somber black with Jim and Danielle Cooper and Rob Whitman. Kirsten Cohen was quietly devastated. Outwardly, she was perfectly composed, her knee-length black sheath with black hose and black heels appropriate and demure, her sad smile the picture of a devoted friend. She politely kissed Jim, Jimmy, and Rob on their cheeks and sat silently through the funeral as she listened to the sad eulogies given to her beautiful friend, such a vibrant and sparkling woman, but dead at the age of thirdly.

Only Sandy had seen her cry. Only he had been there when she crumpled; only he had been there to pick her up in his arms and stroke her hair while she sobbed; only he had taken care to break the news to her as gently as possible. But then, there was no gentle way to break this news to her. Marissa Cooper was dead. Kirsten's eyes had flooded with tears, and she'd cried until her whole body shook and she'd gone numb. The only thing of which she'd been sure was her husband's arms wrapped around her.

Now, though, she was poised as she went over to offer more personal condolences to Jimmy. Sandy, still afraid for her, offered her strength in the form of his arm resting on her waist.

"I never figured I'd see you so soon," said Jimmy, attempting a joke, but his voice was flat and humorless.

"Yeah. Me neither. I'm so sorry, Jimmy. She was such a wonderful person."

"I never thought she'd do that…drive drunk. She usually had such logic." Neither Jimmy nor Kirsten had been told of the note; the only person to whom Jim Cooper had allowed its existence to slip was Sandy Cohen, who'd sworn not to tell. Jim hadn't even told his wife. The fact that Marissa's death had been suicide would go no further than James Cooper, Sr. and Sanford Cohen.

"I know. She was saying…that day, at your wedding…that she'd have to be sure not to drive. I should've taken her keys then," said Kirsten regretfully. Jimmy involuntarily reached out to touch her face.

"Hey. Don't do that to yourself, Kirsten," he said, gently pushing her chin up so that she was looking him in his eyes. "Nobody can ever tell Marissa what to do." Could. She never believes you." Believed. "She's like you in that way." Was. Kirsten offered him a soft smile. "You and Marissa always did have so much in common."

"I love her."

"I know you do. Me, too."

"It's so hard to believe she's gone. She's your sister, Jimmy. I never would have thought…" She took a deep breath.

"If the baby's a girl," started Julie, her voice quiet. "If it's a girl, we're going to name her after Marissa. Marissa Angela Cooper."

"Angela?" Kirsten's voice was sharp.

"Jimmy's choice," said Julie without suspicion. Kirsten's eyes darted to Jimmy, who smiled bittersweetly at her.

"For her angel aunt," he said softly, and when he looked at her, she knew that he didn't mean only Marissa.

"Anyway," said Jimmy, changing the subject gently. "Rob's pretty messed up. He and Kirsten are going to move away from Newport; he says that he can't live here anymore with the memories." Jimmy's voice was sad and lost. His brother-in-law had always been a blood brother to him. "They have family in Phoenix. Rob says that's where they're going to go."

"Phoenix!" exclaimed Kirsten. "They're going to Arizona?"

"I tried to talk him out of it. But…I mean, he'd have to drive by the place where they found her car every day. I guess if God forbid that happened to Julie, I'd want to do the same thing. At least he has somewhere to go."

"Yeah, I guess. This…this shouldn't have happened, you guys, not to you, not now."

"Thanks, Kirsten," said Julie quietly. The two women hugged, and Jimmy and Sandy managed an awkward guy-hug. Then Kirsten kissed Jimmy and Sandy kissed Julie and they were done.

Kirsten and Sandy didn't talk much on the way back to her Aston Martin in the parking lot. They didn't talk when she started the engine, either, or indeed at all until they'd been on the road awhile. They were going home, though, finally—back to Berkeley. Sandy was hesitant about letting her drive, but he'd decided that concentrating on the road would be a good distraction from the pain of losing her friend.

As she shifted into fifth gear, Kirsten felt his hand clasp hers gently over the gearshift.

"I'll always be here fore you, baby," said Sandy. "I promise you with all my heart."

"I know you will."

"And you can never, never let what happened to Marissa happen to you, Kirsten, because I know that I could never live without you."

"I love you, Sandy."

"I love you."


	9. Home

**_Mmm...if it even makes sense. Sorry about the contrived tie/car things...they're too cute to resist. Thanks for the reviews!_**

Kirsten drove until her vision began to blur with sleepiness, at which point they pulled over at the first available motel. Sandy left her in the car while he went inside and paid, and then he came back and gently rubbed her shoulders.

"Come on, baby. Let's go inside."

"I'm tired…" she mumbled. His face visibly softened, not that she could see it through fluttering eyelids. He smiled at her, then undid her seatbelt and silently lifted her out of the expensive English sports car. Luckily, they'd gotten a ground-level room.

Kirsten panicked slightly when she woke in a room that was not hers, in a bed that was not hers…but the arms around her belonged to her husband, and that comforted her. Heavily-muscled arms that lay protectively around her body, holding her close…Kirsten closed her eyes again, loving the feel of his love. Sandy's lips spoke softly into her shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" She paused for a minute, as though she had to think of how to use words.

"I'm okay." It wasn't much, but right now, it was the best that she could do. He leaned over a bit farther and kissed her gently.

"We're not too far away from home, now, baby…our house, our bed, our world." His lips brushed over her face and neck and shoulders. "Just a few more hours, and we'll be home."

"The house, Sandy…"

"Our house?"

"No, the beach house…my parents' beach house…they changed it. They never change it."

"What do you mean, Kirsten?"

"I mean…it's been frozen in time since I was a little girl. I don't think they've even bought new sheets since I was about eight years old. Those pictures…of us…Sandy, Mommy and Daddy…no matter what you think…they've accepted us. They've accepted you." Sandy stared at his wife in utter confusion.

"Kirsten, your father hates me. Maybe your mother accepts me; who knows, maybe she even likes me, but your father hates me." Kirsten smiled.

"No, he doesn't. If he really hated you, he wouldn't've let Mommy put our wedding picture up. Daddy might seem like he lets Mom get away with everything, but…if he really hated you…there would be no pictures of you anywhere. He wouldn't acknowledge your existence."

No, it couldn't be true. Not Caleb Nichol, never, no…

"And…they finally took down…the prom picture."

"What prom picture?"

"Senior prom…after the dance was over, we all went to the beach houses…running around, in the sand, in our dresses…and someone took a picture of Jimmy and me. Daddy blew it up and hung it over the mantle, even after Jimmy and I broke up. It's gone. The picture on the mantle's of us." She looked up at Sandy, her eyes big and beginning to fill. He didn't understand why the pictures were so important to her, especially now, but he knew instinctively that she was crying happy tears and that was reason enough to be glad. His arms tightened around her ribcage, and she silently winced. They were so tight that it was almost becoming uncomfortable, but she wouldn't mention it. She wanted his arms to be around her, so tight that her lungs threatened to collapse—she wanted to know that he was there, that he loved her, that he had her and wouldn't let her go.

"Baby, are you really okay?"

"We were so much alike. It was funny…Danielle used to say…that we were only seven years apart. She said that girls like us usually came 'one in a generation,' only I never really knew if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Good, I guess I thought, because Marissa was her daughter and she always treated me like a second daughter, but now…is that going to be me, Sandy? With all my friends and family standing around in black, with you moving back to New York because you can't stand California without me, with countless shots of alcohol slipping down my throat and a note that casually says good-bye to everyone that I've ever loved?"

There she went again, thinking of her friend, thinking of "destiny," thinking of…he didn't even want to know of what.

"Kirsten, look at me. It's all going to be all right in the end. You and she might've had a lot in common, but you're different women, always will be."

"I love you so much."

"I love you, too, always."

"Let's go home." Home. Except she was home, because home was where he was, always, always… "Sandy? Can you drive?"

"I can try," he said, his voice slightly giving way to jest. "You know stick isn't really my thing."

"I don't understand why people make such a big deal of stick-shift," said Kirsten with the first real amusement Sandy had seen on her face in quite awhile. "It's not really that hard, except maybe when you're learning to drive and it's just one more thing you have to remember."

"Not all of us are as super as you are, sweetheart. Some of us have faults." His eyebrows made her laugh. He looked so serious, but she knew so well that he was joking.

"I'll help you. It can be our next project."

"Slowly, slowly, she teaches me how to be a man." Her honest, sweet smile was enough for him to mock himself forever, if it meant that she'd keep smiling.

"All right. Here we go, then," said Kirsten, handing him her car keys. He'd never driven her car before, not even her old one. It wasn't that she'd have told him, "No"; it was just that he'd never asked. Somehow, getting behind the wheel of his wife's beautiful, expensive, totally-taken-for-granted sports car was a line that Sandy Cohen wasn't quite ready to cross, but he took the keys from her and got into the driver's seat of the car. He didn't have to move the seat back much, in fact at all; his long-legged wife kept the pedals the perfect distance for him, too.

"Clutch with your left foot, Sandy," said Kirsten patiently. "The big one." He found it. He knew where it was; he wasn't completely clueless, but never mind. This was good for her.

"Now start it…there you go…first gear…" Hmm. It was harder than it looked watching her do it. Uncomfortable taking his right hand off the wheel and disconcerting to hear the engine whir and have to do something about it. Her patient voice coached him through stalling—repeatedly—her incredible Aston Martin.

"I told you it's not so bad," said Kirsten, in better spirits once they were on the highway and he'd gotten over his dangerous stalling habit. Sandy chanced a bemused glance at his wife, eyebrows raised, as he slowed to a stop at the red light.

"Uh-huh," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I almost ruined your car and killed us both so many times, I don't even know." She smiled, then tapped his hand.

"First gear," she reminded, and he rolled his eyes. She giggled. Fine. It was worth making an idiot of himself if it meant that Kirsten would laugh. But only for today, never again would he drive her car. Automatic was the way to go until he could get one of his buddies to teach him.

The light turned green, and Sandy's foot was on the gas. Kirsten giggled some more as he made the car jump with each motion of his hand.

"Terribly smug, are we?" he asked playfully as he jerked the car into fifth, making her squeal.

"I'm sorry, honey," she said, and her blue eyes did express a little regret combined with a lot of amusement. "You're learning. I'm being unfair."

"Ah, it's okay. I'm your husband. I'm meant to take your abuse."


	10. Money

**_Sorry it took so long. I'm not really happy with it--haven't been happy with much of my writing lately--but I guess I figured they'd do a bit more arguing over the subject. Money shouldn't be important, but it really is. Anyway, forgive my lack of depth on the taxes/trusts issue; I'm a regular teenager, not a tax lawyer or an heiress._**

Pulling into the driveway of the house that he liked to call "quaint," Sandy carefully pulled up on the parking brake. Kirsten, who had been sleeping, was heard to mumble, "Neutral." He glanced at her, his annoyance from before having completely evaporated. She'd stopped "reminding" him of what to do after she fell asleep somewhere along the highway, and he'd begun to get the hang of driving her car. There was something intoxicating about its power, its speed, and something thrilling about the wind rushing over their heads, although he now understood why Kirsten insisted on French-braiding her hair before driving long distances with the top down. He had the feeling that he now understood, if only partially, why Kirsten and her friends insisted on driving their expensive, impractical sports cars. There was just something exciting about an Aston Martin that the cars he'd driven before couldn't offer, and Sandy resolved not to pick on his wife's taste for fast cars any longer.

"Hey, baby, we're home," he said lightly. Kirsten turned a little and snuggled up to the soft leather seat. Sandy chuckled. He put the top up and got out of the car. Then he walked over to her side, opened the door, and undid her seatbelt. As he glanced at the drowsing figure of his wife, he couldn't help smiling. Carefully, he lifted her from the car, locked the door, and closed it. Sandy slowly carried Kirsten to the front door, where he had to put her down to fumble with his keys.

"Sandy?" she suddenly asked, utterly bewildered. "Where are we? Am I lying on concrete?"

"We're home," he said gently. "I didn't kill us." Kirsten smiled sleepily.

"Were you going to wake me up or just leave me here?" she teased him. He leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"Neither. I was going to carry you."

"You're sweet. I love you."

"I love you, too, baby, always." He offered her his hand to get to her feet, and they walked in. A short pile of mail that had come through the slot greeted them. Kirsten knelt to pick the envelopes up.

"Junk, junk, letter from your mom, electricity bill, junk, bank statement, junk, junk, another bank statement..." She gave a wry smile and handed him the letter.

"Why two?"

"Hmm?"

"Two bank statements. I thought the joint account thing had worked. Do I need to call the bank?"

"Oh—no, honey, this one's...not important. It's just my...it's not important."

"Well, what is it? Come on, Kirsten, I'm your husband. You can tell me." Sandy took care to keep his voice casual, but he was a bit nervous. Did she not trust him? Did she not really love him? Was he trying to talk her into things she didn't want to do?

"Okay, but you have to promise you won't get mad." Now he was really worried.

"I promise." She sighed.

"It's my trust fund."

"Your trust fund?"

"Remember? I came into it two years ago on my twenty-first birthday." Sandy thought.

"Yeah, kind of. It's just sitting in the bank?"

"I never really wanted it in the first place," Kirsten pointed out. "Dad set it up when I was six. That was when he knew he would definitely be able to afford it, you know, because my dad didn't always have money...the Newport Group was still pretty new when I was born...so he waited."

"You don't have to explain why he didn't set aside hundreds of thousands of dollars for you when you were a newborn," said Sandy tightly. Kirsten's face fell.

"See, this is why I didn't want to talk much about it. You hate Dad's money."

"How much of 'Dad's money' am I hating here?" he asked suspiciously. Kirsten sighed again, and passed him the envelope.

"Please don't hate me for it," she pleaded. His eyes softened.

"I don't hate you, Kirsten, not for anything, and certainly not for the fact that you're obscenely wealthy. And if you don't really want me to know the balance, I won't look. It's not that important to me; I just...eh, I wanted to spoil my family, the people I love. Only your dad got to you first. That's all."

"I don't mind if you look. It's only that...well...I think it's more money than you're expecting." She looked at him with a slightly terrified gaze.

"Tell me this is a misprint," he said slowly, "and they put one too many zeroes on the end of this number. Kirsten shook her head.

"Not if it's in the area of...five million dollars." Sandy glanced at the statement again.

"It's more like eight," he told her. Kirsten flushed.

"Oh…yeah…that's right. Most of the interest got put in there, too." She took the paper from him and surmised it. "Yeah…a lot of it—the interest—went to taxes; there was maybe a four percent rate, compounded annually, but I don't think…" She began multiplying figures in her head, but Sandy raised his hand and told her to stop.

"Let it suffice to say, you've got a lot of money just sitting in a bank account with your name on it."

"Yes, Sandy, but we've been through this," she sighed. "The money—it isn't important. The only thing it affects is our tax bracket." He arched his eyebrows.

"Oh?"

"Um…yeah. I make, I guess it's currently about three hundred thousand dollars, on that in interest every year. I have since I was eighteen, and Dad told me that the checks were mine and to do what I liked with them."

"I really did marry a trust-fund kid, didn't I? The fancy cars, the expensive clothes, the money for not even doing anything."

"It's not my fault…" she faltered. "Dad just…he wanted the best for me. He wanted to make sure I'd always have money."

"I know. It's just…God, baby, you've been trained by your father to be proud of having money. Well, I've been trained by Ma that people with too much money are not good people." He reached out a hand to touch her, and she flinched but didn't push him away. "Kirsten. I'm not proud of it. It's just going to take me some time to get over it, get used to this new…twist. I love you." She started to relax.

"I refuse to be ashamed of it, you know. I never asked for the money, but I'm not going to feel guilty about it. My father worked hard building the Newport Group; he sacrificed time with Mom and Hailey and me so that he could be successful. I'd trade eight million dollars for time with Dad when I was younger in a heartbeat, but I can't. It's just because he loves me."

"And he doesn't know how to show his love with anything other than money," said Sandy, but his voice wasn't accusatory. It was just a fact.

"Right," Kirsten softly agreed. Her face was now only inches away from his.

"Well, as long as you don't tell my mother we're in the top tax bracket," he said, his voice a slightly husky whisper. Kirsten smiled lightly and kissed him.

"Like I would do anything to make her resent me even more," she laughed.


End file.
